


On a Scale of 1 to 10

by GertieTheHippo



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Donna and Opie will be good, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Mama Gemma, SOA is its own warning, Season 1, talk shit get hit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GertieTheHippo/pseuds/GertieTheHippo
Summary: Margaery left home to get some peace and quiet.  Now she works and lives as a waitress north of Stockton (much to the displeasure of everyone back home.)  About six months of this, she meets The Tacoma Killer and the two form an unlikely friendship - or at least an understanding.  Eventually, she is introduced to the Club - forcibly, to be honest - after hearing a very interesting conversation in her diner involving Mayans, Sons, a stolen shipment of guns, and an exploding warehouse.  Now she gets to deal with the aftermath of that introduction - meeting a Scot with some fascinating scars of his own, deciding how much, if at all she really wants to be involved with the club, and oh yeah...trying to bring apology cookies to the one and only Tig Trager.  Through all of this, Margaery has to deal with a condition she's had all her life (AN: Because why the fuck not) and decide if it's really any business of the Sons.  They certainly seem to think so.  Have you met Gemma???





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is un-beta'd, but I'll do my best to catch any typos and shit. I'm a comments and kudos whore, so I hope you like this. I'm going though my annual rewatching of Sons of Anarchy right now and the itch to write hit...so there you go :)

Chapter 1: Margaery

Margaery was halfway through her shift when her ears were greeted by the sound of what seemed like near a dozen motorcycles pulling up. She glanced over to her friend and fellow waitress Sarah in confusion. Hal’s was a small diner/truck stop/janky ass piece of shit about ten miles north of Stockton, and about 90% of traffic came between either six and ten am or five and nine pm with the usual customers including truckers stopping for a quick meal and the odd runaway looking for a cheap one. She couldn’t think of any reason why such a large group, and of bikers no less, would bother coming here. Margaery briefly wondered if there was going to be any gang issues with which she would have to deal. 

She shook her head, feeling her thick brown hair shake over her shoulders and prickle the back of her arms. Motorcycles did not mean a gang, and she knew she had no real basis for that assumption beyond Hollywood stereotypes. Truth be told, Margaery had only ever met one honest to God biker since moving to California and while a little gruff, he was a nice guy. It wasn’t easy for her to think he was anything but sweet considering he made stops in to check on her with relative frequency. Considering how Happy and her had met, however, he probably thought she would fall down die if left on her own too long and didn’t want that on his conscience. Then again, remembering the circumstances of their meeting…Margaery wasn’t entirely sure he had a conscience.

“Margaery?” She looked back at Sarah knowing the other woman wanted to ask if Margaery knew them. She only shrugged her shoulders shoulders and started bussing an emptied table. As soon as the large group walked in, however, Margaery knew Sarah wouldn’t want to deal with them. Not that she was overjoyed myself, but Sarah was older, and in the younger waitress’ own opinion, much softer than she let on. Margaery hurried to her side and took the order pad from her hand with a smile.

“I got this,” she assured her. Sarah nodded gratefully and rushed to seem busy behind the register. Margaery gave a small smile and made to smooth the skirt of her uniform as the unknown bikers paraded into the diner. Taking a deep breath, she headed over to the table and booths the group of Mexicans had commandeered, and saw several of them perk up at the sight of her. She tried to give her brightest smile while keeping her own anxiety in check and trying to ignore the low whistles and several pairs of eyes running up and down her body. Margaery had never considered the shapeless yellow uniform she was forced to wear particularly flattering, but now…well the men before her hardly seemed to mind.

“Hi there, we all doing okay today?” she asked cheerily, keeping her smile firmly in place as the men exchanged words in rapid Spanish. Margaery pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tried not to seem like she was listening. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want the men to know she spoke Spanish, but it seemed like the right move on her part. Margaery tried to keep her face from flushing at some of their comments, but she wasn’t sure if she was successful, considering her pale features. She would have thought after six months of living in California a little bit of a tan would have appeared, but no. Curse her Scandinavian genetics! 

Finally, one man, whose leather vest said Vice President on the front leaned forward. “We’re doing well, Mama, and how are you?” Margaery scrunched face at the off-putting endearment, much to the amusement of the group. She had never really understood the appeal of calling someone you were attracted to a parent. The idea of referring to any of these men as her own father was enough to make Margaery taste vomit. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied pulling out her notepad. She flipped her hair over her shoulder again and desperately wished she had a ponytail. Several of the men’s’ eyes followed the length and motion of her hair with interest, making Margaery slightly uncomfortable. 

“Now what can I get everyone for lunch?” She hurried to get down each of the orders while engaging most everyone in some sort of conversation. The more she interacted with the group, the more at ease Margaery felt herself become. She had always loved meeting new people, even if they were a bit unsettling at first. Her parents had always bragged about how she could walk into a room of strangers one minute and leave with five best friends then next.

After realizing how long she had been standing there chatting, however, Margaery forced the group to excuse her so she could put in their orders. She did do her best though, to ignore the whistles that followed her. She may have enjoyed the conversation, but the more forward flirting was slightly disquieting.

Eventually, after each man had their food and their drinks were refilled, Margaery moved to stand behind the counter in her usual “nothing to do” spot. Flipping the pad over and beginning to doodle, she couldn’t help but listen to the conversation happening only a few feet from her. 

At first the group seemed content to talk about how several of the men apparently wanted to wrap their fists in her hair for a variety of reasons and how shitty one guy’s bike was riding. After about ten minutes of this mindless chatter, however, the conversation turned quiet and took a drastic shift. As soon as she heard the man wearing the vest that said President on it say Los Ninos de Anarquia, her ears perked up. 

Happy was a Son. He never talked about it, and Margaery never asked. But it would take a moron not to see the leather vest he wore. And like these Mexicans were clearly Mayans, Happy was clearly a Son. She found herself scribbling without purpose she I strained to hear what was being said. At one point, she looked down to see she had gone full scale Ring on her notepad, scribbling endless circles to form an ill made ring. She realized it would look stupid to just stand there without working, so she grabbed the coffee pot and strolled back over to the group. Margaery felt one hand brush against her thigh but steadfastly ignored it. “Anyone need more coffee?” she asked brightly. “Can I get anyone anything else?”

She heard a couple of the men laugh and then discuss in Spanish what they really wanted from her, but she kept her smiled firmly plastered to her face. “I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic look on her face. “What was that?” She bit her lip. The men chuckled and continued speaking in rapid Spanish before one man held up a hand to the others and patted Margaery’s own.

“We’re just saying what wonderful service you have here, Sweetheart,” the President replied with a wink. His men laughed.

“Well, thank you very much. That’s very kind of you,” she answered with a friendly nod. Filling up the final coffee cup, Margaery hurried back to the counter and set down the pot. She hurried across the room toward Sarah, muttered something about using the restroom, and made her way to the back.

As soon as she was sure she was locked securely in the single use bathroom, Margaery fished her phone from her apron’s pocket and bit her lip. She was sure it must have turned puffy by this time from how nervous she was.

Happy gave me his number, she reasoned. He said if I needed something to call. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if she should really be bothering the biker with this. Although, the Mayans were talking about the Sons. Happy would probably want to know. Releasing a sigh, Margaery dialed the never been used phone number and waited silently, hoping she wasn’t being stupid by involving herself in something that clearly was not her business.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sons are pissed...obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one; that's usually not the case.

Chapter 2: Happy

Happy Lowman had always considered himself a patient guy. He may not appear that way to some – they were always more concerned with his affinity toward retribution of the gruesome variety. He was patient, however, in those cases. He always waited for his orders, and he never went rogue. Going off on your own got people killed and brothers locked up. No, he had always been content to wait…until now.

He listened in a stony silence, eyes locked on Clay, as his SAMCRO brothers discussed the piece of shit Mayans who had stolen their guns just two nights before. As a Nomad, he didn’t really have a say in how the matter would be handled and when, but he was more than ready for a little payback of the Happy Lowman variety. He had only been in town a few days for a social visit, but he was glad he had a reason to stay…even if it was a shit reason.

He felt a smile grow on his face when Tig began talking about sending a message to the wetback fuckers beyond just retrieving the guns. Very few people understood and appreciated Happy the way Tig did. If it wasn’t so pussy, he would have called Tig his best friend. 

His eyes moved around the table from brother to brother gauging their reactions to Tig’s push for immediate and violent vengeance. Clay, Bobby, Chibs were nodding in firm agreement, Juice was listening with his eyes focused on the table in front of him, and only Jax seemed to have more to say about the whole mess. Happy didn’t care one way or the other, because he would do what he always did…whatever the Club ordered.

Suddenly and much to everyone’s surprise, there was a loud knock on the Chapel doors before the Prospect timidly poked his head. He was a young kid, one of Chibs’ projects. Happy couldn’t really see the appeal of the kid. He was scrawny as shit and apparently couldn’t respect the sanctity of Church. Happy was seconds away from punching him straight in the throat.

“What the Hell you think you’re doing?” Clay demanded, a cold glint in his eye. At least the kid looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, but Happy’s phone keeps ringing…I think someone is trying to get a hold of him. Maybe it’s important?” he muttered, clearly regretting his decision to interrupt the group’s weekly meeting. The group looked at the baldheaded nomad in confusion. He shrugged. He wasn’t expecting a call, and even if he was, he wouldn’t hold up Church for it.

“You expecting a call, Brother?” Clay asked with a raise of one thick eyebrow. Happy only scowled.

“No,” he replied gruffly. The group heard the familiar ring of a prepay as Happy phone once more began to screech into the silence of the room. Clay sighed and motioned for him to answer it, glaring all the while. Happy was pissed. He generally wasn’t the focus of Clay’s displeasure, and it was not something he enjoyed. Happy pushed away from the table, snatched the phone from the prospect, and answered sharply. “What?” he barked. There was a pause and then he heard her voice.

“What?” he asked once more in a softer voice upon hear the voice on the other end. She sounded nervous. He liked the girl from the diner all right. She was a decent little piece who for some reason seemed to enjoy his company, and he didn’t need her thinking he was yelling at her. He sensed the group around him perk up at the unfamiliar tone in his voice. He did his best to ignore his brothers as the little waitress with the great rack from his favorite lunch spot flew through her words. “Girl, slow down,” he ordered. She sounded a thousand times more nervous than he had ever heard her. He listened for a few moments when he froze. Turning back toward the Sons and taking his seat at the table, he slammed the phone down and put it on speaker.

“Margaery, you’re on with my brothers. Tell them what you just told me,” he ordered, making sure she heard him. There was a slight pause, before he heard a slow release of   
breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...and who are you?

Chapter 3: Chibs

To say Chibs was confused by what was happening in the Chapel would have been an understatement. Between his Prospect interrupting a meeting (something for which the kid would get a stern talking to later,) Happy accepting a call, and now said caller being invited to speak…this was unlike anything the Club had ever experienced at Church. What gash who knew anything about Happy would call so unabashedly? And on that note, what gash would Happy ever give his number to? It was bizarre…

He heard a slight release of breath when finally, a clear and unfamiliar voice spoke up. “Hello? Umm…hi Happy’s, uhh…Happy’s brothers.” The group looked around at each other before Clay finally laid it out. 

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, shooting a glare toward Happy. At that point, Chibs couldn’t care less about what Happy was thinking. He wanted to know exactly who this voice belonged to. It was soft and trembling, obviously unnerved by Clay’s harsh tone. He wondered how she spoke to Happy – his voice was even rougher and enough to send the most hardened bangers into a panic. Still unsure about her identity, Chibs almost felt bad as he sensed her practically shrinking away from the phone. She was probably, and rightfully so, regretting calling at the moment.

Happy replied with a shrug. “Go on girl,” he pushed. Chibs leaned in to listen more closely.

“I’m so sorry to be a bother. I wasn’t sure if I should call, but – I don’t know. Look, a group of twelve or so Mayans are here right now. I don’t think they’re your friends, right?” she asked. She was rambling, and had he not been confused, Chibs almost would have found it cute.

Tig snorted and Chibs gave him a shove to shut up. He was feeling sorrier for the girl by the second. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t think so. Well they’ve been talking, and I’m assuming they didn’t realize I speak Spanish, because they kept on talking. Loudly too...It’s strange, because I’d think they’d try and keep their voices down while discussing nefarious deeds and alleged illegal activities in a diner.”

Happy must have realized she was moving out of the scope of her call and stopped her from rambling too far off course. “Margaery.”

Margaery…it was a nice name. Chibs wondered if she ever went by Maggie.

“So sorry, right!” she apologized. This girl couldn’t seem to keep herself in order which, once again, brought a gleeful grin to Tig’s face. “I mean at first it was just stupid stuff about – well about me…and so on and so forth.” 

Chibs could practically feel the heat rising to the girl’s cheeks through the phone. This was clearly not a girl used to the type of attention those wetback fucks were giving, and Chibs felt the sudden urge to beat the leaving crap out of every one of them. He shook the thoughts of violence away. He should have wanted to kill them because of business, not some chick in a diner.

“But then they were talking about bikes and stuff, and –” Chibs looked over at Clay who was rolling his eyes. It was painfully obvious how disinterested the President was in girl on the phone. Glancing around the table, Chibs did his best to gauge the reactions of his brothers. Happy was listening intently, jaw clenched while Tig looked ready to torture the girl’s location out of him, drive there immediately, and fuck the poor lass on the countertop. Opie and Bobby appeared to be listening, and Piney was sniffing another cigarette he couldn’t smoke. The dreamy look in Juice’s eyes hardly surprised Chibs anymore much the same as Jax’s seriousness.

Pulling himself from his observations, Chibs listened again to hear Clay push in on the call. “There a point to this Darlin?” he interrupted not too kindly. 

“Sorry, so sorry, yes!” she rushed. She certainly was one for apologizing. “I guess…are you all missing some guns?” Chibs felt his hands clench and noted the similar responses going around the table. After a few moments with no answer, Chibs heard the strange girl release the breath she must have been holding. 

“Hello?” she asked after clearing her throat.

“How would a little girl like you know something like that?” Clay asked, jaw pulled tight. Chibs wasn’t the only one to catch the glare Clay was sending Happy’s way. But Happy only continued to sit in stony silence.

“Well, they mentioned the Sons of Anarchy and I know Happy is one because of his vest...” Oh yeah, she definitely was not a part of this world. “…and stolen guns and a warehouse to meet at. Umm, if I heard wrong, I’m sorry,” she added. Chibs noted the touch of fear in her voice and couldn’t blame her. Clay was not a kind-hearted man by nature, and she obviously knew she was getting herself into something not altogether legal. Again, he asked himself what the hell had happened between such a sweet girl and the Tacoma Killer. Happy didn’t do sweet. None of them did.

“What warehouse?” His eyes flew to Tig and scowled. Chibs was now fairly certain the lust in his friend’s eyes was geared more toward the mysterious girl rather than revenge.

“Oh, you’re a new voice, hello,” she greeted nervously. 

“Hello yourself Doll,” Tig flirted and Chibs rolled his eyes knowing the girl probably didn’t sense the desire in Tig’s voice.

“Yes, hi. Uh, they mentioned some shipping yard in San Leandro.” Suddenly they heard shouts from the other end of the phone.

“I’m coming!” the girl cried to whoever was looking for her. Chibs sighed as Tig led several more of the guys in a round of chuckles. “Sorry, I had to slip away to call, but they’re asking for me. Sorry to bother you. Bye Happy!” It didn’t escape Chibs’ notice how her voice brightened when speaking directly to the just the one Son.

The table was silent for a few moments after hanging up with Happy’s mysterious friend. Finally, Tig leaned in. “You hitting that, Brother?” he asked wriggling his eyebrows. Happy ignored him and snatched up his phone.

“Who on God’s green earth was that delightful little lady?” Bobby asked shooting a wink toward Happy.

“Waitress; North of Stockton a ways,” Happy explained while shoving his phone into his pocket. “Met her a few months ago driving down; she’s a good girl.”

“Yeah? How good we talking,” Tig chuckled, cracking his knuckles. Chibs could see Happy’s jaw clench, but the man remained silent.

“Can you trust this?” Jax asked professionally. Chibs turned to Happy who didn’t even think before nodding.

“Doesn’t make shit up like a lot of bitches.” Happy was a man of few words and fewer emotions. 

“She’s a smart lass, too…listening all quiet like that and not letting them see,” Chibs stated, quite still pretty impressed with the girl. Any woman who could keep her cool with a pissed of Clay, relatively speaking, had to have something special about her.

“Well then,” Clay grinned. “Looks like we’ve got some planning to do. But first…Happy, you go to the girl and make sure she doesn’t go squawking to the cops. The last thing we need is some little piece having a change of heart and ratting us all out, because she can’t take it.”

Happy nodded and started to get up from the table when Tig jumped up too.

“I’ll come too,” he stated excitedly. Everyone gave him looks of varying exasperation. “You know, as back up.”

Chibs almost stood up himself, but decided two sons would be enough for the girl – especially when they were this pair. He almost felt sorry that the club was sicking them on her…almost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrology is Fake, but Capricorns are a Conspiracy

Chapter 4: Margaery

It wasn’t long after Margaery got off the phone with Happy and the others that the Mayans left but not before promising to return soon for her excellent service. Margaery gave her brightest smile under the circumstances, all the while knowing she may have just brought down a lot of trouble for the group before her. She could only pray Happy wouldn’t let them find out it was her who informed on them. 

“Such an idiot,” she muttered to herself, cleaning up the large mess left behind. “Idiot idiot idiot…” 

“Thank you so much, sweetie!” Sarah came over and gave Margaery a quick hug. Someone was certainly doing a piss poor job of sensing Margaery’s discomfort. “You handled them like a champ.”

“No problem, but you do owe me now,” she mumbled in response.

Sarah laughed and agreed. Margaery turned away as the older woman finished cleaning up her own tables and took off, shift ended. It was just Margaery out front for the next hour until the two evening girls came in and of course Morris in back…though he was probably closing his eyes and trying to take a nap. The man was notorious for being able to sleep at any time in any place.

Sighing, Margaery continued to clear away the plates and glasses, and grabbed the bill left for her. She felt her eyes go wide when she caught sight of the tip left for her. They must have left at least 40% for her. She really hadn’t thought her service was that extraordinary, but then again, it probably wasn’t the service they were tipping.

After pocketing her new newly found wealth of $40 and straightening the tables that had been moved, Margaery sank into one of the stools at the main counter. She was wiped, and it wasn’t just the typical tiredness of working late and sleeping little, but the deep emotional exhaustion of too much going on in her head. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, but unless she wanted to cave in and move back home where her parents could coddle her and keep her tucked away safe and sound, Margaery had to keep moving forward. 

Yes, it was definitely better to just stay where she was at, though her family had already started calling; they very much wanted her out of her shitty apartment in Stockton and in a nicer (safer) area.

Margaery sighed as she began braiding a small portion of her hair. It wasn’t her parents’ fault for acting the way they did. She couldn’t blame them, not when they had to deal with a “sick” kid like her who apparently had “zero respect for the miracle of her life…” Alice Cross, guilt-monger extraordinaire certainly had a way with words, much to her daughter’s constant annoyance. Truly though, it wasn’t as though Margaery went out of her way to cause her parents worry. It just tended to happen a little more often than not.

If Margaery were to be really honest (and a total bitch) she would tell her parents to look in the mirror. It wasn’t as if Margaery was “sick” because of poor lifestyle choices or environmental factors…she knew how freaking genetics worked – damn autosomal recessive patterns. 

As Margaery continued to think upon the unfairness that was her life, heard the all too familiar ring that signified one very particular caller.

Annie, are you ok?  
So, Annie are you ok  
Are you ok, Annie  
Annie, are you ok?

“Oh for Pete’s sake!” Normally, Margaery kept her phone off while working, but after her conversation with Happy, it had slipped her mind. She pulled her phone from her pocket and sighed. There was no one in the diner…she might as well answer. Margaery knew from experience that her mother would only grow more agitated the longer it took for Margaery to talk to her.

Annie, are you ok?  
So, Annie are you ok  
Are you ok, Annie  
Annie, are you ok?

“Hey mom,” she greeted, leaning forward across the counter to stretch. Who knew how long this would take?

“Margie, are you okay?”

Margaery snorted into her phone. After meeting Alice “I’m a Fucking Capricorn” Cross, no one could question Margaery’s choice in ringtone. 

“I’m fine, mom, why wouldn’t I be?” Margaery picked up her pen again to once more start doodling. Her mom already seemed to be in a bit of a state, so Margaery may as well settle in. Hopefully the diner would remain empty for a bit.

“I texted you, but you didn’t answer.” Margaery rolled her eyes at that, flicking a few crumbs from the counter before her. “Your father and I thought that maybe something had happened.”

“No, I didn’t!” 

She smiled at the sound of her father’s voice on the other end of the line. While he stilled worried, her dad wasn’t nearly the anal-retentive watch dog that was her mother. He got Bare Necessities from The Jungle Book as his ringtone.

“Either way, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” her mother continued, obviously unimpressed with her husband’s contribution.

“Well I am working, Mom, so that’s probably why I didn’t text you back and besides –” Margaery pulled her phone from her ear and checked her inbox. “Good God, Mom, it hasn’t even been twenty minutes! Get a grip, would you?”

“Well how about you watch your tone Miss “I’m too busy and important serving cheeseburgers in the middle of nowhere to talk to my mother once in a while!” We haven’t heard from you in nearly a week, so excuse me for wanting to find out how my only daughter is doing and to make sure she isn’t collapsed in on herself in a ditch or on the bathroom floor somewhere.”

“Mom, come on…”

“You could stand to be a little nicer, Margie. You know your father and I are still offering to pay for your move out of that abysmal hole you’re claiming to be an apartment.”

“It’s not a hole.”

“Your father called the police station there a couple days ago –”

“No, I didn’t!” Margaery rolled her eyes again at her father’s voice as her mother continued to ramble forth.

“ – and they said there have been even more burglaries since the last time we spoke to you. Honey what if you’re home when these criminals decide your apartment is next. You could get hurt or –”

“Mom enough!”

“Margie Sweetie, I’m sorry. I know you said you’re fine, but you understand where your father and I are coming from right?” 

Margaery took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course, I do, Mom, honest. But seriously…I’m at work right now. Could we wait to discuss my entire life until I get home. I’ll skype you and I’ll let you yell about my apartment some more, okay?”

“Fine dear, but I don’t yell,” her mom argued.

“Yes, you do!” 

Margaery smiled. “Bye Dad!” she shouted. “Talk to you later, Mom.”

“Bye Sweetie. Oh and don’t forget to –”

“Uh huh right! Bye! Love you!”

As soon as Margaery hung up on her mom, she immediately turned her phone off and laid her head down on the counter. It could have been worse, she supposed. At least she could go about her day…for a few hours. Then skype. Why the Hell did she suggest that?

As Margaery moved to get up from her seat she paused her inner monologue of self-idiocy, freezing at the sounds coming closer with every breath. Motorcycles. Again. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig is compared to some barrels. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where credit is due. The lines about the barrels were actually said by Roger Ebert in his movie review of "Freddy got Fingered." Seriously everyone, if you are ever having a really shitty day, just google Roger Ebert's worst movie reviews. They are hilarious!
> 
> Kudos or Comment if the spirit moves you!

Chapter 5: Margaery

For one brief moment, Margaery was sure it was the Mayans returning after realizing she had understood every word of their conversation. Hearing the bell above the door ding a couple times, Margaery turned, ready to scream for Morris.

She let out a great sigh of relief, however, upon seeing her favorite baldheaded biker.

“Happy!” She hurried forward and threw her arms around his neck. She felt him stiffen under her tight embrace and immediately backed off, her face turning red from embarrassment. “Sorry Happy, I’m just – well thank you for coming. Though you totally didn’t have to! God, you didn’t get in trouble, did you? Shit you did, didn’t you?”

Margaery knew she was rambling just as she had on the phone earlier. It was a nervous habit of hers she had tried to remedy a number of times since her youth, but clearly to no avail. Happy was clearly going to let her verbal diarrhea run its course much to her chagrin. She would much rather someone just shut her up, especially with the strange man staring at her beside Happy. What a nightmare…

“I swear I won’t call you again…not unless it’s really important I mean. Maybe you should give me some examples of appropriate reasons to call? Oh and I swear I won’t tell anyone what they said or that I called you – do I need to throw away my phone, because I absolutely will! Holy crap, Happy…please don’t tell them I told on them,” she begged.  
“They kept staring at me and were being super gross, and one of them touched my leg. Happy, they wanted to pull my hair!”

She wasn’t entirely sure why the hair comments bothered her so much, but they did. She had always been proud of her long locks. It was long, natural, and with enough wave that she rarely had to brush it in the mornings. And if that wasn’t the dream right there, she didn’t know what was.

She felt herself losing steam and as she took a deep breath, the stranger elbowed Happy and laughed. “Shit man, this broad’s a trip! Why you been hiding her away? You selfish fuck…”

Margaery frowned and shook her head, not at all pleased with how the strange man with curly dark hair and a gaze that could penetrate a steel beam was speaking about her. “Excuse me, buddy, but this broad is standing right here.”

Happy brought his thumb and forefinger to the inner creases of his eyes as Tig swaggered forward. “Yes, Darlin’ you most certainly are…name’s Tig.” He shot Margaery a wink despite her own grimace before moving past her to take a seat in a booth and spreading his legs wide. He gave her an expectant look. Happy followed him and gave Margaery what almost could have been construed as an apologetic look. She would take what she could get from him.

She continued to stare at the two men, arms crossed uncomfortably over her chest and wondered why Happy couldn’t have come alone. The man’s – Tig’s – words weren’t exactly something she was used too. At least the Mayans had had the decency to hide their opinions of her. They had been perfectly fine to her face.

“You gonna service us or what Doll?” Happy’s friend Tig called, noticeably adjusting the crotch of his pants.

Margaery’s eyes widened in shock and disgust. Her eyes drifted toward Happy who up until this very moment, she had considered something of a friend, albeit a quiet and not altogether present friend. Now, however, he just sat there as if waiting for Tig (stupid ass name) to finish his rather unpleasant harassment of her.

“Hap man, she gonna catch flies with that open mouth or something better?” At that Happy started to lean forward. Apparently, he was ready to get off his ass and be a goddamn gentleman. Unfortunately, it was slightly too little and a lot too late. Margaery was seeing red and she could feel her normally pleasant demeanor slipping away. She had worked so hard to overcome the aggressive behavior and anger she had had as a kid, so to feel forced back into that mindset made her all the more frustrated.

Clenching her fists at her side, she moved forward, eyes locked on Tig. Once she reached the side of the booth and the asshole who was still smirking gleefully at her, she bent forward to look him in the eye.

“Oh fuck man, she like this with you?” he asked, his gaze never straying from hers. “I’m getting seriously all hot and bothered over here.”

“Shut the fuck up man.”

Margaery would have rolled her eyes at Happy, but she was too focused on Tig.

“Listen here you redneck biker piece of trash,” she murmured softly. She could feel all the stress from the past few hours building up within her. She could picture her parents nagging and worrying and pestering; she could remember every time some kid from school thought she would be an easy mark because she came across as small and weak; she could sense the tension shifting in the air as the frustration she’d been suppressing for so long started to surface. She could also tell that there was no stopping her rambling now.

“I have had the day from Hell, and you, you piece of crap, are making it so much worse. I neither know you, nor do I wish to know you, because you are disgusting. In fact, you don’t even scrape the bottom of the barrel. You are not the bottom of the barrel. You are not below the bottom of the barrel, and honestly, you don’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as barrels.

“I would like you to leave so I may have a civilized, if slightly one sided, conversation with Happy. He doesn’t make me sick to my stomach despite his refusal to muzzle you. He isn’t a douchebag. He isn’t a complete heathen reminiscent of the Paleolithic Era. So why don’t you crawl back into the primordial ooze from whence you came and go fuck yourself."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did you come from Happy?

Happy first met Margaery Cross four months ago. Though it wasn’t so much a meeting as Happy needing to take a piss on the way down to Charming and her forcing her friendship upon him. He had pulled into the diner’s parking lot around two in the morning and was hardly surprised to find it damn near deserted. He could see a single waitress behind the counter, hunched over and focused on whatever was in front of her. 

Getting his bike settled, he glanced through the windows again. Even from his half crappy viewpoint, she seemed to be a decent piece of ass. Happy smirked and wondered if she would be up for a quick backroom fuck before he went on his way. It was amazing how many of these small-town waitress types got a kick out of hooking up with a Son.

Hearing the bell ring above his head, the waitress looked up from whatever had her attention. Happy was mildly confused when she broke into one of the widest grins he had seen in a long while, particularly during the dead of night with no one around. He checked over his shoulder, thinking that maybe someone she knew had snuck in behind him, but there was no one there. Happy turned back to the girl who was still smiling and apparently smiling at him.

“Good…” she checked the clock on the wall behind her, “morning!” she greeted brightly. “How’re you doing?”

Happy only continued to stand in the doorway. What in the Hell had her so damn chipper? When he realized she was still waiting for a response of some kind, he shrugged and finally stepped further into the diner.

He eyed a table in a corner and made to sit there, but suddenly the girl was laughing. “Oh come on! No one ever comes in this late…this early? Whatever. You should come sit over here; I don’t bite.” She patted the counter space a little to her left.

After a brief pause, Happy moved back toward the counter with a smirk. “What if I want you to sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes…at him. She rolled her fucking eyes at him. Women didn’t roll their eyes at Happy Lowman, but he found himself sitting down in front of her anyway. 

“Haha, very funny,” she replied, clearly unimpressed with his comment. “But seriously don’t be gross or I won’t give you anything to eat,” she threatened.

“Not hungry.”

“Fine, then nothing to drink.”

“Not thirsty.”

The waitress laughed again. “Well God, why on Earth are you here at two in the morning?” 

Happy shrugged. “Had to take a piss.”

He watched her scrunch her face in mild disgust. “Well you do that, I guess. I need to take out the trash…will you be here when I get back?”

Happy leaned forward, another smirk on his face. “Why? You needing some company, Darlin’?”

She raised one eyebrow and took a step back. “What did I say about that kind of talk? I, in fact, don’t need company…it’s just – well to be perfectly honest sometimes around this time a few guys come in just to be a pain in my ass. Maybe someone else here would, I don’t know, keep them in check?”

“You usin’ me for my body then?” She actually chuckled at that.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” She turned away and Happy watched as she started tying up several garbage bags. Clearly, she had decided Happy wasn’t going to remain long.

“I’ll stick around a minute,” Happy finally agreed. She turned around and smiled brightly.

Without a word, she grabbed the three bags beside her, nodded once, and headed out the back. If Happy hadn’t been sure of her story about the guys coming in around this time, he sure as shit did when he heard the revving of a car engine pulling up to the diner. He cracked his neck, waiting for the girl to return and the assholes outside to come in. After a few minutes of nothing…Happy turned. The car was still out there, but there was no sign of anyone else.

He sighed and dropped his head. He could just imagine what had happened. He stood from his seat and strode out of the diner, heading around back where he could hear voices.

“I said you need to leave.” While Happy could hear the force in the waitress’ voice, it didn’t take a moron to sense the fear as well.

“Come on, baby,” one of the men pushed, moving forward to press her against the wall.

“Yeah, you’ve been teasin’ at us for near a month now, time to close the deal,” another laughed. Happy watched as she tried to push them away. One grabbed her by the arm, fingers digging tightly into her flesh. He was impressed she didn’t flinch; he knew there would be marks left over.

“Please let go of me.” Why the fuck was she being so polite?

As the four men closed in further, Happy had finally had enough. “You fuckers lookin’ to get the shit kicked out of you?” All four men turned, the one still gripping the waitress’ arm.

“Who the fuck are you?” Happy could have laughed at the look of the men – it was nearly three am and they were decked out in some gay ass polo shit and khakis. Fuckin’ pussies…

“I’m the guy who’s gonna pull your dick out through your mouth and shove it up your ass.” He watched and sneered as one by one, they noticed his cut and turned pale. 

“Fuck man, sorry. We’re just leaving,” one of the men assured him. He watched them take off toward the front of the diner, before turning back toward the little waitress who was grinning once again.

“The fuck you smiling at girl? You know what they would have done if I weren’t here?” Happy was almost pissed at how calm she was.

“Ah but you were here,” she replied smoothly. “I’m Margaery, by the way.” Happy stared at the hand she held out, noticing the large bruises on her arm already forming. He gave a small sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.  
“Happy,” he finally replied, taking her hand in his.

\-----

Obviously, Happy’s first impressions of Margaery had been that she was a sweet, innocent, and nonconfrontational girl, so to say Happy was shocked by her outburst toward Tig would have been a massive understatement. Never before had Margaery gone off on someone, at least not in front of him. Every customer complaint he had seen her receive, she took patiently. Every compliment, she took quietly. She had never sought conflict with anyone. This was entirely new, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Tig would react.

Happy thought he saw a flash of fury move across his face, but to Happy’s complete lack of surprise, the anger transformed into unconcealed lust. 

“Fyi baby, I am incredibly hard right now.”

If Happy had had any clue as to what Margaery would do next, he may have actually tried to stop it. He and Tig had come for a specific and simple reason, but any thought of that reason was shot when Happy saw the spark of ferocity in Margaery’s own usually calm eyes.

Before Happy could finish saying, “For fuck’s sake,” Margaery’s fist was flying through the air and colliding with the center of Tig’s face. The resulting sound cracked through the empty diner, louder than he would have expected. 

“What the fuck!” Tig brought his hand to his nose which had started gushing blood the moment Margaery drew her hand away. “Are you fucking kidding me, you stupid bitch!”

Happy watched Margaery step back from the display, eyes wide as she took in what she had done. Almost immediately, she ripped off her apron and Happy nearly laughed out loud as she brought it to Tig’s face in effort to stop the bloodshed she had just caused.

He did, however, start laughing when Tig struggled to fight her off. She was strangely strong for her relative size, because the harder Tig tried to push her away, the more forceful Margaery became as she tried to staunch the still gushing nose. Happy briefly wondered if it she had broken it.

“Shut the fuck up, you asshole!” Tig cried, muffled by the now blood-soaked apron. “You see what your stupid little girlfriend did to me!” Happy only laughed harder, fist pounding on the table between them. Several minutes of watching the struggle between the big bad biker and the once pristine waitress went by while Happy refused to intercede. This was too good, and Happy would kill himself before letting Tig live down this whole experience.

“Hold still, please!” Margaery shouted over the continued wailing and cursing. Happy shook his head as she continued to try and help Tig. He had a feeling she wasn’t too impressed with his brother’s behavior.

“You’re being a baby; it’s just a little blood!” she cried. Nope, definitely not impressed.

“Are fucking kidding me? I think you broke my nose, you dumb bitch!” 

At that seemingly meaningless revelation, Margaery froze. Happy watched as a surprised smile appeared on her face. It was the first she had shown since this whole bizarre interaction started. What the Hell would be making her grin like that?

“Did I really?” she asked. “I broke it?” She seemed genuinely in awe of the possibility, making Happy all the more confused by the display.

“What the fuck do you think?” Tig pulled the apron away, the bleeding having miraculously stopped, and sure enough, there was a clear crooked look to his already many times broken nose.

“Shit man, she did a real number on you!” Happy chuckled, moving in to get a closer look.

“Oh shut up…” Tig seemed to have calmed down somewhat when he realized the bleeding had ceased. “Fuuuuuuck me…that hurts.”

“Does it?” Margaery murmured. Happy shot the girl a look and frowned at the glassy look in her pale green eyes. Tig also appeared to notice the change in Margaery’s demeanor and the two men exchanged glances.

“The fuck you think?” he asked again as he continued to massage his nose and forehead where the beginnings of a bruise had started to show. Happy never would have thought Margaery had it in her to mark someone up, let alone hit them at all.

Margaery shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never – I mean…” Margaery licked her lips and sat down next to Happy. Happy continued to watch as she leaned in toward Tig and cocked her head. Suddenly, she pulled out a small notebook from the pocket of her uniform and opened it to a half-filled page.

Happy could only make out a few of the lines, but they confused the Hell out of him.

6/1/2008 - David Sellers - Hand smashed in car door - 8  
6/4/2008 - Sarah Mason - Forearm burned on stove - 6  
6/13/2008 - Cooper Rossi - Hand scratched by cat - 3

He watched as she wrote out the date and Tig’s name, or what she knew of it at least, and his injury: Nose broken by Margaery Cross. Then Margaery looked up at Tig with raised eyebrows and an expectant smile, no trace of the anger Happy had seen just minutes before.

“On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being you feel no pain or discomfort at all and 10 being you literally want to die because it hurts so bad, how in pain are you actually in right now?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A predilection for pain?

Chapter 7: Tig

About eight months back, Gemma had punched Tig. While it hadn’t been a face shot, it had still hurt like a fucker. Of course, in that particular situation, the thought of violent retaliation hadn’t even crossed his mind. It didn’t matter that he was hunched over with the wind knocked out of him by a woman, because that woman happened to be Clay’s Old Lady, and everyone knew that with Clay’s Old Lady, you fucking let shit slide.

In all honesty, he had deserved the hit. He knew it, and so did everyone else who was there. Despite being Sgt. At Arms and Clay’s go to guy, Tig had actually had the audacity to talk back to the President. If someone were to ask him what he had said or why, Tig only would have shrugged. It was long enough ago and embarrassing enough for him to have erased it from his mind completely – everything but that punch. 

Being brought down by Gemma had been a humbling experience. Really she should fuck up every one of the Sons at least once just to keep their heads on straight and not to get too goddamn complacent.

Of course, just because Gemma was able to get away with hitting him, didn’t mean just any bitch could. He truly couldn’t remember the last time he had been honest to God hit (with the intent to cause injury) by a woman who wasn’t Gemma. Now whatever he and some chick did in the bedroom was a completely different matter. Tig would always be up for hard, fast paced fuck. That, however, was entirely beside the point.

The point being that last thing Tig had thought he’d experience today was being punched in the face by some sweet piece of ass – a bitch of Happy’s no less. Yet there he sat staring into the face of said piece of ass. Moments ago, Margaery had seemed downright shocked at her behavior and had done her damndest to remedy the issue, not that Tig cared. He was too pissed to accept any help she was willing to give.

This bitch had punched him. Closed her fist, hauled it back, and smashed it straight into his face – there would be no hiding the aftermath. He was definitely going to bruise, Hell…there may even be a goddamn black eye. No fucking way could he tell the guys he got beat up by a girl. He shuddered at the thought of the jokes that were sure to head his way. Tig Trager, hands down the most fucked up member of SAMCRO, had had the shit kicked out of him by some little waitress who had he to have, at the very least, forty pounds on.

No. That would not do. He’d have to come up with something believable. Maybe right after this, he and Happy could go pick a fight with a couple a Nords…

Jesus Christ, whatever happened, Happy would have to back whatever story Tig came up with, and fuck knew what that would cost him. Needless to say, Alexander “Tig” Trager was one pissed off motherfucker.

All of that anger though faded the moment the dark-haired waitress sat down before him – yeah, he definitely understood the Mayans’ interest in those waves. It may have been difficult to get a sense of her form beneath that fucking shapeless bag that was her uniform, but damn…that hair. He imagined gripping that thick mess in one fist as she pushed against him, pulling her head back tightly –

“The fuck you just say?” Any fantasies he may have been having vanished as the girl – Margaery – rolled her eyes at him. Tig glanced over to Happy who seemed just as confused if not slightly more amused.  
“I asked you: On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being you feel no pain or discomfort at all and 10 being you literally want to die because it hurts so bad, how in pain are you actually in right now?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. Tig thought about the question being asked, eyes darting down to the small notebook laying in front of Margaery. With it being upside down and one eye already starting to swell, it was difficult to make down the writing, but a few things were clear. It seemed to be some kind of record of names, injuries, and numbers. His eyes widened in realization.

“Are you – fuck, are you getting off on this, Sweetheart?” he asked, his mouth forming into a smirk. Tig watched gleefully as the waitress turned bright red, clearly beyond embarrassed at his insinuation. He looked at Happy again who didn’t look at all convinced of what Tig had implied. Frankly, if it was a pain thing that Margaery was into, he would be only too happy to oblige. Tig would be a liar if he said that particular kink didn’t turn him on in a number of ways.

When Margaery finally shook herself from the shock of Tig’s theory, however, she sputtered out a messy response. “Of course not! Why would anyone…I mean, Jesus Christ! I’m not a pervert; I just – I’m curious is all.” She looked desperately at Happy beside her and rested one small hand on his heavily tattooed arm. Tig couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance. What could Happy “The Tacoma Killer” possibly have done to inspire warmth from such a girl?

“Yeah whatever you say Darlin’…” Tig leered. “I can get behind whatever does it for you, fuck I’ll get behind you if that’s what’s got you jonesing.” Tig briefly wondered if he had a death wish. This bitch had literally just punched his face in for talking dirty; what would stop her from doing it again? But damn, did he get a kick out of watching her turn red! Luckily for Tig, rather than go into smashy smashy mode, Margaery kept her focus on Happy.

“I swear that I’m not a freak, Happy! God, it’s just – it’s just a thing. A hobby…” she assured him. Shouldn’t she be explaining herself to Tig? He was the one with the fucked-up face thanks to her. He looked at her hand again and furrowed his brow. Her knuckles and a few fingers had started to swell and discolor and…were a few bent at a weird angle? How did she not notice that shit? Tig had had plenty of breaks in his life and every one of them hurt like a bitch.

“Whatever,” Happy finally replied. He looked at Tig with a raised eyebrow and released a sigh. “Well?

“Well what?” Tig growled. He was still mildly pissed at Happy’s reaction earlier and the fact he still had to convince the other Son of some bullshit story to hide the truth of Tig’s injury. And now he wasn’t even getting much of a rise out of Margaery either, so Tig went back to focusing on the pain in his face.

“You gonna answer the girl’s question or not?” 

Tig stared at the pair in astonishment, the excited glow once more returning to Margaery’s face. She picked up her pencil again as she waited expectantly for Tig to answer. He flashed his gaze to Happy again who actually looked slightly curious. Finally, Tig released a heavy sigh and glared at the waitress. He had just been fantasizing about fucking her hard on the countertop…now he was more interested in smacking her face into it.

“A fucking 7 okay! Fucking happy? Crazy ass bitch…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haters gonna hate.

Chapter 8: Tara

“Jesus Christ, Margaery, what the Hell did you do to your hand?” 

Tara could only stare in shock at the swollen, discolored mess that was her newest (and perhaps only) friend’s hand. The doctor took Margaery puffy fingers in her own and gently felt for anything unusual, apart from the obvious visuals of course. Glancing away from the hand and into the eyes of the girl before her, Tara released a disbelieving sigh. When Margaery only shrugged, Tara could have smacked her.

“It was an accident, I swear!” she finally cried in her own defense, purposefully not looking at her hand. Tara cocked her head and released Margaery.

“What? You slipped and caught yourself with your fist on someone’s face?”

Margaery snorted making Tara smile as well.

“Seriously Margaery,” Tara pushed as she wrote some notes on her clipboard. “How long has it looked like that?”

She watched as Margaery picked at her jeans with her one good hand and bit at her lip.

“Careful,” Tara warned. Clearly, Margaery had been gnawing at her lip a lot recently. A dark circular callous had formed just inside her lip and Tara didn’t want it to grow.

“Sorry, yeah I know and I punched him yesterday around three I guess,” Margaery admitted with another shrug.

“And you’re only coming in now?”

“I didn’t think I broke anything! Come on…I mean, maybe jammed a couple of fingers or something, but multiple breaks? Who could have expected that?” she protested. Tara remained unimpressed. 

“You should,” Tara stated, arms crossed. “You should expect that, or at least prepare for it. God Margaery, there must have been swelling and discoloration pretty quick afterwards, right?”

The brunette before her had the decency to look ashamed.

“Well yes, but more often than not it’s not because something is broken! I mean if I came in every time I bumped into a table or knocked my head into the cupboard, I would waste so much of everyone’s time AND be here every damn day, Tara; you know that. I may as well lease out a room.”

Tara sighed and ran both hands over her face. She had only known Margaery a month but had already gotten a real good idea of her nature and the kind of patient she was: headstrong for the former and the worst for the latter. Tara couldn’t exactly blame her. It had to be frustrating having to constantly be on the lookout for any possible injury or illness without having the luxury of pain as the first sign of problems. It was strange to think how something so simplistic in nature was so instrumental in keeping a person safe.

Tara Knowles, despite being a doctor for almost five years and working at one of the nation’s top hospitals for three of them, had never seen a true case of CIP. Most doctors would never see it in their entire careers, because it was so rare. To have Margaery sitting there in front of her was both fascinating and mildly terrifying. Tara genuinely liked the slightly younger woman and just wished she would take more care.

“I get what you’re saying,” Tara assured her as she started pulling out the supplies to fit Margaery with a cast, “but just looking at this, you should have known to come in before now.”

Margaery groaned, but gave a reluctant nod. “I know, I know…” Tara could feel Margaery’s eyes on her as she carefully started splinting the third and fourth fingers on the right hand. That didn’t take too long, so Tara immediately went into the casting process. It wouldn’t encompass Margaery’s wrist, for which she had already expressed immense gratitude toward Tara. 

All of the fractures were hairline, and honestly, had it been anyone else, Tara would have just splinted the fingers and then wrapped the hand in an ace bandage. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anyone else. As Margaery’s friend, Tara felt bad about the decision to cast, but as a doctor…she knew she couldn’t trust this particular patient not to accidentally injure herself further.

“So how long is it on for, Dr. Knowles?”

Tara frowned at the formality. Suddenly she realized that Margaery was probably hyperaware that no doctor trusted her with her own wellbeing. It had to be tough to feel you were always being treated like a child.

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Cross…”

Tara smirked when Margaery gave a small smile.

“We’ll x-ray it in a week. If there hasn’t been any additional trauma, I’ll take it off and we’ll see about the finger splints.”

Margaery’s smile grew. “I will be super careful, Tara, I swear!”

“You can’t go around punching people anymore, okay?” Tara laughed, continuing to wrap Margaery’s hand. She nodded quickly in response, holding up a scout signal with her good hand.

“Anyway, since I’ve got you here anyway –” Tara continued carefully, but Margaery cut her off with a groan and laying back hard on the exam table.

“Come on, Tara!”

“Shut up, I’ll be quick,” Tara promised, pulling up her stool. “And I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.”

Margaery raised one eyebrow and sighed. “Asian?” Tara smiled. She knew Margaery didn’t have the best sense of smell, but she had confided in the doctor that the strong spices and sauces used in Asian cuisine sometimes broke through. Margaery loved it.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay shoot.”

Tara smiled and grabbed her clipboard from behind her.

“Any other injuries you’ve noticed apart from the obvious?” she asked clinically.

Margaery sighed. “I accidentally rested my elbow on the stovetop. One of the other girls was there though and screamed. It was only for a second or two.” She gave Tara a reassuring look before twisting her arm to show the doctor. Tara gave the small burn a once over, feeling for any heat and searching for any sign of infection. Everything, however, looked okay.

“Looks fine,” Tara finally agreed, bringing a smile to Margaery’s face. “Anything else?”

“A couple of bruises…no idea where those came from, but –”

“That’s normal though, I know. “Temperature?”

“Normal.”

“You check every night?” Tara gave her a hard look, making Margaery stick out her tongue.

“Obviously. My mother would murder me if I let up. It’s fine though and has been fine since the last time I was sick…and that was just the flu.” Tara nodded in acceptance before giving Margaery an apologetic glance. Margaery look her lips and ran a hand through her dark hair.

“And your eye?” Tara asked gently. She knew how sensitive Margaery was about it; it was, after all, one of the few things that Margaery was actually ashamed about.

“You mean lack thereof?” she joked, forcing a laugh. Tara remained silent. “It’s fine. It’s always fine. No one’s noticed yet, but they will.”

“You don’t know that, Sweetie…” Tara comforted.

“Please, it’s okay though. It is what it is…I mean it’s not like there’s anything to be done about it. I don’t even remember when it happened. That always bothers people.” 

Margaery snorted at that. “They don’t care it’s fake; they just want to hear the gory details. But it’s like, sorry not sorry, I was two.” Tara smiled in spite of herself. Margaery was a mystery to her. She could go from shame to excitement to sadness to joy in minutes. Sometimes Tara had a hard time knowing where her mind was really at; Margaery was a hard girl to read.

Tara decided she had made Margaery uncomfortable enough for one day and changed the subject back to what she assumed was far more entertaining.

“Hey who did you hit anyway? Seriously, I’ve been here a month and I’ve never gotten that whole “violence is the answer” vibe from you once.”

When Margaery kept silent, Tara looked up from her work to see her friend’s face had gone incredibly red.

“What?” Tara asked, concern laced in her voice. Was she still focused on their previous conversation?

“This guy – it’s not a big deal, but he was being very rude,” Margaery finally admitted. Briefly Tara wondered if Margaery could feel her cheeks heat up the way every other person did when they blushed.

Tara shook herself from her thoughts as she finished Margaery’s cast. “What do you mean he was rude? Like mean to you?”

Margaery shrugged and rolled her eyes. “No, he was saying stuff to me – really dirty crap that was completely unwelcome and unappreciated. It was rude and disgusting, so I reacted in a manner that I would think totally acceptable.” She crossed her arms across her chest as if daring Tara to argue with her, but she only laughed.

“You mean you punched him.”

“Yes, I did,” she stated proudly. “Obviously I didn’t intend to break his nose, nor my own person, but there we are. Frankly, I don’t think I should be blamed. Happy didn’t have to bring him along. There was absolutely no need for Tig to come traipsing into my place of employment as if he were God’s worst gift to women.”

Tara froze. Tara stared. Tara blinked.

“Tara, you okay?” Margaery asked with a chuckle. “You look like I punched your puppy instead of some douchebag biker.”

“I’m sorry,” Tara replied, “but are you telling me you punched Tig Trager?”

“Is that his last name?”

“Tig Trager, Sons of Anarchy, Tig Trager? That’s who you punched? Whose nose you broke?” Tara couldn’t believe it. Margaery. Margaery, her sweet new friend had gotten into a fight with probably the most terrifying and violent member of the Sons of Anarchy (that wasn’t including Gemma of course.) How had she even been allowed to walk away from that?

“Yeah, but anyway,” Margaery continued, apparently completely unaware how her revelation had affected Tara, “we all done here? I need to hit up the store and head home.” She hopped down from the exam table and moved toward the door.

“Yeah, fine,” Tara replied softly, still thinking hard on what she had just been told. Hopefully, this would be Margaery’s last foray into the MC world. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Absolutely!” Margaery shot her a smile and a pathetic attempt at a thumbs up with her bad hand, earning a snort from the doctor. “Oh, and good luck with that kid!” 

Tara nodded gratefully and took a seat on her stool once Margaery disappeared from view. 

“What fresh Hell…” she muttered, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She already had the distinct feeling, this whole thing wasn’t over. She glanced up at the clock and took a deep breath. She needed to start prepping for Abel’s surgery.

No, this wasn’t over at all…not by a long shot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence may not be the answer, but fuck...it sure feels good

Chapter 9: Margaery

“Did you apologize?”

Margaery gave Dr. Mills a blank stare and remained silent. She had been seeing this particular therapist once a week for the past four months. While she had held off finding someone as long as possible, it had only been a matter of time before her mother had realized Margaery wasn’t seeing anyone. Needless to say, Margaery caved rather quickly after that. 

It wasn’t as though she had a problem seeing a therapist; Margaery just didn’t necessarily see the need half the time. It was moments like this, however, when she knew there was a reason her parents and medical doctors thought she would benefit from the one on one sharing time. Mills tended to bring certain aspects of Margaery’s life to the forefront that she herself would normally never consider or want to consider.

“Margaery, you with me over there?” Mills chuckled, once more getting Margaery’s attention.

“Yeah, sorry,” she replied quickly, stretching her back along the incredibly comfortable couch. 

“Of course you are,” Mills agreed, a smirk on her lips. “So did you?

Margaery forced a smile. “Did I what?”

“Apologize to the man you hit.” Mills gave her a hard stare while leaning forward, and Margaery tried not to cower under the intense gaze. She widened her own eyes in what Margaery assumed was the picture of innocence.

“Well of course I did,” she finally replied, gesturing wildly in effort to seem more dedicated to the whole apology thing. She realized she probably looked like a moron, but perhaps the flailing limbs would distract the doctor from pushing further. It was a ridiculous notion really, considering Mills wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Mhmm right…did you though? Did you really?” 

Margaery knew her face was probably turning red. “I mean, I think I did?”

“You think?”

“Yeah…maybe not?” Margaery sighed and ran both hands through her hair before placing her chin in her palms and offered up a sheepish grin. “Probably not…”

“That’s what I thought,” Mills responded, jotting something down on her clipboard.

“To be perfectly fair,” Margaery cried defensively, still trying to smile through the awkwardness, “he was being a complete pig! He came into my place of employment and was sexually harassing me! He made some very inappropriate comments about me and what I should do for him, and did I mention he was a complete pig?”

Mills nodded. “You did, yes.

“Good because he was! And I don’t think it’s fair that I should be the one to apologize. I felt attacked, so I initiated in what I, and possibly all of womankind, would deem a proportional response.” Margaery took a breath and leaned back into the incredibly comfy couch.

Mills raised an eyebrow. “And by proportional response, you mean –”

“If a person acts a certain way, there has to be a certain type of response…like in the West Wing! Did you ever watch that show?” Mills nodded. “That plane was attacked with the President’s doctor buddy who had just had a baby and so he wanted to respond in an equal manner. None of that “oh let’s not hurt anyone, we don’t need vengeance” crap.” Margaery folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. It was hardly the best argument she had ever made, but she figured it got the point across. Apparently, she had figured wrong.

“Yes, but in the end, did President Bartlett give into his anger and order for what he considered a proportional response, or did he follow the advice of his advisors and reign himself back?”

Margaery clenched her jaw. Yeah, definitely not her best argument.

“It’s different.”

“Of course it is.” Mills sighed and Margaery watched as a few more notes were put down before the doctor looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. Both women sat in silence for a few minutes before finally Margaery gave in and raised her arms in the air in resignation.

“What do you mean “of course?” What even is that?” she asked. Margaery knew she was getting frustrated; she generally did when meeting with Mills. “He was rude. I hit him. The end.”

“He used words; you used actions,” Mills pointed out.

Margaery rolled her eyes in disbelief. “So what…I have to wait for a guy to actually touch me before I defend myself?”

“Of course not,” the doctor informed her, shaking her head. “Not if you really feel threatened by someone.” She paused and Margaery waited silently for her to get to whatever point both women knew was coming. 

“So did you feel threatened by this guy? That your safety was in question and the only way to protect yourself was through breaking a man’s nose? Because if you sit there and look me in the eye telling me that’s the case, I will believe you. We can move on to some other topic of your choice. But if you can’t say that…well then nut up or shut up buttercup; we’re in business.”

Margaery looked away, twirling a thick strand of hair tightly against her head behind one ear. She knew Mills wasn’t mad at her or trying to make her feel bad, but it really did suck when she pulled crap like this – honesty – what a pain in the ass… Of course, Margaery didn’t think she was in danger. Happy was there. She knew he would have stopped anything from happening, and in all honesty, Margaery didn’t really get the vibe from Tig he would actually follow through with his comments. 

Well, if she had been a more pleasant and willing participant, he probably would have been all too pleased to engage, but he had only been making stupid comments. Unwanted and gross maybe, but overall? Harmless.

“I should apologize,” Margaery finally admitted, sorting her thoughts out in her mind. She glanced out the window, not yet entirely sure she believed what she had just said.

“Should you?” Mills asked. “Don’t you dare unless you’re going to mean it, Sweetie. Otherwise it’s crap and a waste of everyone’s time. We’ve talked about this. Just because something is socially expected, does not mean you’re required to participate.”

Margaery nodded. She had grown up apologizing for everything and to everyone whether something was her fault or not. Mills had been working with her to get over that little automatic reaction ever since they started meeting. Margaery felt more than a little gleeful knowing that her mother wasn’t too impressed with this particular exercise. 

“No. Yeah, I mean,” she replied with a little more force. “I should apologize.”

Mills gave Margaery a smile. “For what?” she prodded. Margaery was familiar with this exercise as well. It wasn’t enough in Mills’ mind for Margaery to show remorse; there had to be specific reasons for it. And Lord help her if they weren’t good reasons.

“That Tig was hurt,” Margaery clarified.

At the look in her therapist’s eyes, Margaery cocked her head and frowned. “What?”

Mills shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “You’re sorry he felt pain, but who or what caused his pain Margaery?”

“Me, I know, but –”

“No buts here. You did that. You made that choice to injure someone and cause them – what?” Mills looked down at her notes and then back toward Margaery. “A level 7 amount of pain. Tell me, when did you realize you had hurt him?”

“He said so,” she replied. What the heck was the point here?

“You didn’t even realize you had caused serious injury until he stated so. Why not?” Margaery was feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

“I don’t know, I mean, I tried to clean up the blood. Does that count?”

“You were more worried about the mess than the person? Margaery, he said “Ow ow oh God my nose” –”

“He didn’t say that,” Margaery murmured with a huff.

“Okay, but then when he told you he was hurting, what was the first though that went through your mind? The very first thing?”

Margaery remained silent. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t remember, because obviously she could. It had been only a couple of days previous and she, herself, had broken someone’s nose. Yeah…she definitely knew what had been going through her mind. Margaery, however, did have a sneaking suspicion that Mills also knew about what she had been thinking. If that was the case, Margaery wasn’t particularly eager to voice those thoughts. Shame was not a pretty color on anyone.

“Margaery.”

She looked up at Mills.

“You’re bleeding, Margaery…your lip.” Margaery brought her good hand up to the side of her mouth and pressed her fingers to her lip. She frowned at the wet feeling and the sight of blood as she pulled her fingers away. She really needed to put a stop to this particular habit. It was only a matter of time before she completely destroyed her bottom lip.

“Are you okay?” Mills asked, holding out a kleenex.

Margaery blinked a few times and gave her a confused smile, bringing the tissue to her mouth in order to stop the bleeding. “Of course I’m okay,” she replied. “I’m always okay. You know that.” 

The therapist shook her head, a resigned smile on her face. “You may not be hurting, but that doesn’t mean you’re okay. You’re allowed to be upset when you are injured. Pain isn’t a prerequisite here for feeling upset.”

Margaery nodded and turned to look out the window again. She glanced briefly at the clock overhead. Twenty minutes to go…good lord. The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, something for which Margaery was grateful. Mills had learned by now that sometimes this particular patient needed quiet to gather her thoughts into a cognizant response or even just collect herself into a more stable mindset. Margaery wasn’t one who liked showing any kind of weakness.

After the short breather, Margaery heard Mills clear her throat and looked up. “How’s your family doing? Any word from them?”

Margaery shrugged. “I spoke with my mom the day this happened, two days ago. She was how she always is. They still want me to move…they want it bad enough, they’ll help pay for it. My dad even set me up with a job interview outside of Stockton…Charming, I think. It’s a formality, of course…if Dad called it in, it’s already mine. That’s what they do though. Everything needs to be easy for me.”

“And that bothers you.”

Margaery laughed and checked the Kleenex still pressed against her lip. Seeing that the blood had stopped, she tossed it into the trash and looked back over to Mills. “What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” Mills replied, taking a few more notes. “What’s the job?”

“That’s part of what’s so annoying! It’s a fulltime spot at the library – Children’s Lead and everything! It’s perfect…” Maragaery sighed. It really was ideal, but God was she loathe to admit it.

“Your field.”

Margaery nodded.

“Fulltime means benefits.”

Margaery nodded again.

“Better hours than the diner and closer to your one nonwork friend – Tara, yes?”

Margaery nodded a third time. She knew how childish she must seem to an outside observer. Boohoo, her parents were too helpful and cared too much, and now she had a job offer for a position despite the incredibly competitive nature of her field…what hardships! Would it really be so bad to accept the job?

“Would it really be so bad to accept the job?” Margaery could have screamed as Mills voiced the question that had been ringing in her own mind for the past two weeks.

“Of course not,” she moaned in response, flinging her hair over one shoulder. “Logically, it’s perfect. I know networking is a thing. I know everyone does it, and I know it’s freaking huge in my field, but that doesn’t make it feel any less like giving in!”

“Giving in to what?”

“I left home to be on my own and figure my own crap out. And now I’m just supposed to go crawling back? There is nothing wrong with my job; there is nothing wrong with being a waitress,” she stated emphatically.

“Of course not. But how many years of college did you pay for?”

“Six, but –”

“What level education did you reach?”

“I have my Master’s, but –”

“How bored are you at the diner?”

“Very, but –”

“And how many times have you injured yourself at this job in the past month in comparison to the year at your library position back home?”

That gave Margaery pause. She didn’t know the exact numbers off of the top of her head, but it would be easy enough to check her records back home. But even without counting them all out, however, she knew the difference had to be rather large. The library didn’t have stoves, ovens, coffee, or knives for her to worry about. And the dress code there had allowed her to cover up her legs in thick slacks to prevent bumps and bruises.

“Sounds to me that there really isn’t much of a choice here,” Mills stated, setting her notes flat on her lap. Margaery clenched her jaw and looked down at her broken hand in annoyance.

“We’ve talked about this too. There is nothing wrong with accepting help – especially when it is freely given and it’s for something that would make you so much happier. Because it would, you know…make you happier. And let’s be real, I googled your address, because I can, and you do live in an absolute shit neighborhood. If I were your mom, I would also be super invested in getting you out – and that wouldn’t change if you were Superman.”

Margaery snorted in response. 

“Well?” 

She raised one eyebrow. “Well what?”

Mills gave her an unimpressed stare and closed Margaery’s file with a sigh.

Margaery returned the sigh with a groan and nodded. “Yeah…yeah I know.” Mills was right, as she generally was. There really wasn’t much of a choice at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not been well; that is all...
> 
> But I have appreciated the comments :) I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying this story.


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